He Talks Too Much ~ Septiplier

7

~3 days later~

Jack was in a pissy mood before he even walked through the office doors.

Not even Nate dared go near him and his thunderous expression straight through till lunch, during which the Irishman was to be seen sitting in his chair, moodily taking bites out of his sandwich with far more force than was necessary. The only person who dared break Jack's self-inflicted exile was, of course, his boss with a short, pointed email that ordered him to go to her office immediately after lunch finished.

After that Jack took a few minutes off from his angry brooding, chewing his sandwich thoughtfully as he contemplated whatever job threateningly important detail he'd left out of his latest report or if he'd forgotten to add an essential meeting to her schedule over the past week or so.

Thankfully nothing came to mind so Jack decided it couldn't be that job threatening and continued to soak in his own little puddle of frustration and irritation for a bit longer, glaring at his computer like it had done him a personal wrong. Obviously it wasn't the computer's fault for his shitty mood; in fact, his Ma was to blame for that.

His ma.

She was a good woman, and Jack knew that. He knew she'd been dealt an impossible hand from the very start and still came out a winner, he respected her for that. Sometimes she could come across a little overbearing and overprotective without meaning to, even back when he was a child, but after everything that happened back home it was like her dial was turned up to 100 and it all just became too much to handle

So he'd left.

He'd just packed his bags and ran away to New York and only added to the weight on her mind, the thought her little boy in such a massive city haunting her like a ghost.

She used to call him daily, her voice full of sorrow, but at the time he had little patience for what mumbled apologies she had to offer. Of course, deep down he knew it wasn't her fault. None of it, not really. But he just wanted to be alone; eventually completely cutting himself off from everyone back home in an attempt to forget.

He hadn't heard from anyone back home in nearly 3 months now.

That is, until this morning.

At the time he'd been avoiding his phone as though it were infected with a deadly disease, and that disease was called 'Mark'. He'd been doing his best to ignore the problem, something he normally wouldn't have an issue with; then again his problems didn't normally walk around on two legs and send him 7 messages per night begging for forgiveness.

Most problems just sat there quietly until he decided to stop procrastinating and sort them out. Honestly was it so hard for Mark to just shut up and take the hint that, right now, he fell into roughly the same category as the fucking rent?

Jack had just about reached the end of his rather short tether whilst drinking his coffee at his kitchen table at 7 o'clock in the morning; as soon as the phone rang he'd answered the thing without even glancing at the ID, determined to tell the prick to just fuck off before the caffeine caught up to his brain and allowed him to think it through properly.

Because after all who else could it possibly be? No one called him anymore.

It wasn't Mark.

Jack immediately regretted answering at all, his Ma's familiar voice ringing down the line, a note of surprise and relief in her voice at being answered that made him feel just a little bit guilty for ignoring her. Okay, more than a little.

It's just she sounded so fucking excited. "Jack! Oh Jack, how are you?" She cooed like he was still a little baby. "It's been so long! How's America? Have you been eating enough? What's the weather like? How's work? Are you sleeping okay? You never told me you have a boyfriend!"